Strange Comforts
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: When Sara returns home to deal with the unexpected passing of her father, some things get a bit strange. [GS-friendly, not shippery]
1. Chapter 1

** Title: **Strange Comforts

** Summary:** When Sara returns home to deal with the unexpected passing of her father, some things get a bit strange. [G/S friendly]

** Pairings:** Grissom/Sara [And again, most people really wish I wouldn't torture the poor characters]

** Rating:** PG 13

** Category:** Drama/Romance

** Archives/Links:** Just ask. 

** Author's Notes:** This idea sprung from something completely different, where a friend of Sara's comes to Vegas and she has to deal with the repercussions. But the back-story turned into the better fic, and this is the strange hybrid of the two. 

While this is labeled a romance, it's not a typical one. More of an exploration of the characters then anything else. 

** Disclaimer: **I don't own CBS, CSI or wine cooler. I want wine cooler though…I love headaches. 

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Grissom watched from the corridor as his CSIs sat in the break room, joking back and forth while they waited for him to arrive. The men's grins suggested early bets were already on, while the two women leaned towards one another, speaking intently. But they all looked up quickly when he entered, alert and eager to be in the field.

"Nick, Catherine, Warrick…shooting at-" he checked his notes, "…The Smiling Monkey. Sara, you're with me."

"Score," she said, grabbing the slip of paper from his hand as she walked out of the room. She paused at the door. "You gonna drive or am I?"

He looked at her, and she grinned. 

"Right. Don't mess with a man and his wheels."

"Just get ready."

~*~

She read the assignment slip in the car. A convenience store had been robbed; the intruder identified and caught on surveillance. The forensics were a mere formality.

"Why'd you take an open-and-shut robbery?"

"I have a plane to catch tomorrow night. "

"Oh yeah, the San Francisco convention. Gotta go wow the rookies."

"Don't mock my lectures Ms. Sidle. The way I remember it, you yourself were bowed over by my six-legged friends not all that long ago."

She laughed. "Yes, but now I think they're freaky."

"Freaky?"

"Yep. Freaky," she agreed. "Hey! You almost missed the turnoff."

He put his signal on and turned onto the dirt road Sara pointed towards. The ride was bumpy, and Sara muttered a few choice comments about certain city officials. 

"I wanted to talk to you about this trip Sara. I want you to run the lab while I'm gone, at least for a couple of days. If Catherine starts worrying about the way things are going, I'll take you off."

"You're kidding. You're offering me a chance at supervisor? No joke? And Catherine's okay with this?"

"Catherine's okay with what I say she's okay with. As of tomorrow night, you're shift boss. You'll do fine. I'll be back on Saturday."

Sara didn't reply, but a huge smile spoke for her. She sat back in her seat, contemplating this new information. After only a few minutes they came out onto a decent road and saw the store.

"_Heavenly Desires_? I thought it was a convenience store?"

Grissom looked ashamed. "So did I."

"Well at least we know why it's out here."

"Inside or out?" 

"I'll take the perimeter," Sara offered. 

They exited the vehicle, splitting up. Sara headed around the back while Grissom nodded to the officer on duty and entered the shop. It was dimly lit, and cool compared to the late summer evening temperatures outside. Paraphernalia crowded the shelves, some with uses he wouldn't even guess at. He shot photos and lifted prints from the register. He talked to the man that had been on duty, noting his agitated state.

Sara came in then, letting out a low whistle.

"You got names for any of these things Gris?"

"Human nature interests me, but not that much."

She grinned, and for a moment he was aware of an unintended double entendre. 

"I'm done outside. Nothing remarkable, shoe prints and tire tracks. The guy was on a motorcycle though…Find anything interesting in here?"

"Not much yet. Prints mostly. Good quality though."

A dim clanking came from the back room, and Grissom motioned for silence. Sara's hand went to the holster on her waist, and she inched towards the rear. The sudden tinkling of a novelty ring tone broke through the silence.

"Turn that off," he hissed. 

Sara complied, looking chagrined at forgetting to set her phone to vibrate. She saw the phone face and confusion slid over her face, tinged with worry.

"It's my mom," she said, heading outside to take the call. 

The noise had stopped, and Grissom motioned for the cop to look into it. He looked out the door and watched as Sara, illuminated by the last faint streaks of daylight, slowly slumped downwards as she spoke. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he saw the word 'dad' cross her lips.

The cop came back before Sara did, explaining that it was the old AC. Grissom turned back to the crime scene, noticing a section of cloth caught on a shelf. As he removed it with tweezers and bagged it, the hair on the nape of his neck prickled to announce Sara's presence.

"Grissom…" Her voice was taut with self control.

"You don't have to say anything. Just drop these," he handed her a few envelopes, "off at the lab when you punch out. And when you know how long you'll be, phone me so I can get the paperwork formalized. Got it?"

"You never do paperwork Gris."

Her voice sounded a bit more in control.

"Okay, phone me so I can half fill out paperwork that'll sit on my desk for six months before disappearing into the abyss." He gave her a small smile. "Besides, Cath'll worry."

"I'll let you know when I get there."

She left, her shoes clicking on the old wood floor in a hurried beat. Grissom phoned Warrick, explaining that something came up and he was needed at this scene. He gave the man the address, and turned back to his work.

~*~

The halls of the CSI building were relatively empty, and Grissom hurried through them quickly. He stopped at the break room, intending a quick cup of coffee before he met Greg for the results of his evidence. Much to his surprise, Sara was sitting on the couch with her cell in hand. 

"I sent you home two hours ago Sara."

She looked up, trying to figure out when he had come in.

"I've punched out. I just…haven't gone home yet. I started calling to get a ticket…" she waved her hands "but no luck so far."

"It's your dad?"

She nodded. "They were watching TV when he just keeled over…the doctors think it was an aneurysm." 

He didn't know what to say then.

"You want a lift home? I have to drive by your house for the crime scene …"

She gave what she hoped passed for a smile. 

"Thanks."

~*~

They were quiet in the car; he left her to her grief.

"Two days."

"What?"

"That's how long it will take for me to get a ticket to San Francisco. One of the planes is in for repairs, so they've been squeezing two planes into one. Or trying to at least. I'd be better off taking the bus."

"Not necessarily. Look, go home. Shower, sleep, pack whatever you'll need. One ticket to San Fran shouldn't be too hard to wrangle up."

"I don't know Grissom…"

"Look, no matter what transportation you take you'll need some sleep. Just wait until this shift is over. I'll swing by, and if I haven't arranged anything I'll pay for your bus fare."

She nodded in acceptance. The sudden news had taken a lot out of her. In a way she was glad he was taking control for the moment. Right now she wanted to crawl into bed and cry. 

"One condition though- I'm not taking your ticket."

"Fine," he agreed. 

They were at her building now, and she got out of the SUV. 

"I'll see you about 7 then. You don't know how much I appreciate this…" she started to choke up. 

"7 o'clock," he said.

He waited in the parking lot until she was inside, then drove back to the lab. For once Greg would be looking for _him_.

...........

Feedback welcome. The good, the bad and the out-of-character.


	2. Chapter 2

See first chapter for all important disclaimers. 

~::+::~::+::~::+::~::*****::~::+::~::+::~::+::~

Sara was awake by the time her alarm rang, her head pounding in time with the pulsing tone. She hit _ snooze_, knowing it was a futile exercise. She could either roll out of bed and shower quickly, or answer the door in rumpled PJs and tear trails. And that last person she wanted to greet in that manner would be Gil Grissom.

Grabbing a robe from the foot of her bed, she shuffled into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker, grateful she had the foresight to prepare it before she had left for work the night before. The machine was ancient, and she knew it would take awhile for her coffee to be done. 

She spent the time showering, and let herself get caught up in the relaxing effect of the hot streams of water. She hadn't even stepped out of the shower when a buzz announced Grissom's arrival, and she let out a small curse. Wrapping the terrycloth bathrobe around her body tightly, she answered the buzzer.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

She hit the _Door_ button without replying, then unlocked the deadbolt and rested her hand on the knob. From her view at the peephole she saw his familiar form making his way down the hall, and she opened the door before he knocked.

She felt the odd urge to snicker at the surprise on his face when he saw her attire, but chose not to acknowledge it. 

"There's coffee ready," she said, pointing over her shoulder to the kitchen. She retreated to her bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in jeans and an oversized LVPD t-shirt. 

She smiled at the steaming mug in his hand, reveling in how natural he looked in her home. Another cup sat across from him on the table, and she sat in front of it. For half a second the reason he was there slipped her mind, but it all came rushing back.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked, hoping that he had performed a miracle.

There was a beat before he answered, and she knew what it would be. _Sorry Sara, I tried. I guess you're going to need that bus ticket after all._

"How does a three o'clock flight sound?"

Oh dear God, he had done it.

She felt tears well up, but she was smiling when she replied. 

"Thank you."

He didn't find a reply necessary, or he couldn't think of one. Either way, they were both silent as they drank their coffee. When his was finished he stood to leave, and she walked him to the door. They paused at the doorway.

"Do you want a ride? To the airport."

"I wouldn't ask you to drive me-"

"Same flight Sara. It wouldn't be a problem."

She considered it for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"I'd appreciate it."

"Be ready for noon, okay?" said Grissom, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving.

~*~

Her bags were sitting by the door and she was surfing through talk shows and soaps when the phone rang. She stared at it for a minute uncomprehendingly, then hesitating before she picked it up. She really didn't want to deal with some family member asking about her whereabouts, or details. She wanted to sort things out first, figure out the details. Knowing it would seem ridiculous if she didn't pick up, she snatched the receiver from the cradle.

"Sara Sidle."

"Good, you're home," Warrick's warm voice said. His relief was evident, even across the phone lines. "We were worried about you. Are you okay? Grissom said you had to leave…"

"I-" her voice faltered. "I'm fine. Family stuff. I'm going to be out of town for a few days though, so you may have to come in on your night off. Sorry."

"There's nothing wrong with a little overtime," he assured her. "You just take care of yourself."

"I will. How'd the case go?"

Sara hit the MUTE button and settled into her couch as he filled her in, and they talked for nearly half an hour. They had barely hung up when Nick called, obviously not trusting Grissom's assertion she was fine. Catherine was the last to phone, apologetically explaining that she had a court date that ran late and asking more questions then either man had. 

It was nearly noon when Catherine hung up, and Sara did a final walk through of her apartment. Her bathroom tap was dripping, and she turned it off. She double-checked that her windows were locked and that lights were off. Finally content that there was no more she could, she sat down and waited impatiently for Grissom's arrival. 

~*~

Grissom helped Sara carry out her bags, noting the stiffness of her posture. At some point between his early morning coffee and now she had changed into a court suit. It figured. She his behind the professionalism the suit demanded, and he hardly blamed her.

While he was placing her suitcase in the back with his Sara climbed into the passenger seat. She hadn't said a word since the tentative 'Hello?' over the speaker. He didn't mind, not being one for conversations himself.

Once on the road, he stole glances at her from time to time, most often while the vehicle was idling at a red light. Her head was pressed against the cool glass, her lips singing along with the radio. Grissom doubted she realized it, and he found it endearing.

At the airport he checked both their bags, and took a seat next to her until their flight was called.

"How'd you manage this ticket?"

Her hands were twisting the tissue she held, and he suspected her question was merely a diversionary tactic.

"You know Maggie from Days?"

"Yeah. She covered a few shifts while you were on vacation last summer. Smart girl. Can't stand Ecklie, so she's trying to get transferred to Swing."

"She was supposed to come to the conference with me. But her babysitter _suspiciously_ came down with the chicken pox, so she gave me her ticket."

"I don't suppose she'll _ suspiciously_ end up on the Swing shift, will she?"

He couldn't help but smirk.

"Talent like that should be kept happy."

"Is that so?" she asked, giving him a doubtful look.

"Yes. And that's our flight. Come on."

He gently led her by the elbow to the loading gate.

……………

Feedback – the good, the bad and the flat-out ugly- is most welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

See first chapter for all important disclaimers. 

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Sara slumped further into her seat, unable to determine exactly when or how she had made her way from the terminal to the plane. She was vaguely aware that Grissom had led her by the arm like a child. She'd have to thank him later.

At the moment he was placing her overnight bag in the compartment overhead. He took his seat beside her, offering her a comforting smile before examining his briefcase intently. She briefly, and not too kindly, wondered how interesting it could honestly be. It was a leather box with a handle and gold clasps. Not exactly a work of art.

Scowling at nothing, she turned her attention to the window on her left. They hadn't lifted off yet, and it seemed almost funny how ridiculous the airport looked from her viewpoint. People on the ground were small enough to look obscure without reaching the ant-ish status, and she wondered what business they had scurrying about. She was so wrapped in her thoughts she missed the captain's first announcement, and tuned out the stewardess's instructions. 

She had forgotten to buckle her seatbelt, and Grissom tapped her arm.

"What?" snapped Sara.

"Seatbelt," he reminded her.

Sara wondered if he intentionally spoke with so little emotion or if it was merely force of habit. She wished that there had been some inflection to his tone. Amusement… gentleness… irritation, perhaps. But there wasn't, and she was left unable to read his emotions.

When the plane took off, he offered her a piece of gum. She took it, wondering how he remembered her ears hated the pressure change. Hell, she knew he probably hadn't really. He was either lucky, or suffered the same problem. Popping ears weren't exactly a rarity.

It was several minutes after they had reached cruising altitude when she asked Grissom to get her a water. He complied, noticing upon his return the used Kleenex she stuffed down the side of her seat.

Her smile was tightlipped as he handed her the bottle, and he didn't comment. A few minutes later she rustled through the in-flight magazines, but finding nothing of interest she slammed them down and sighed loudly.

"Here," he said, offering her a magazine he had pulled from his attaché case.

She looked at it, then gave him a tentative smile. It was the latest edition of _ Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science_. 

"Anything interesting about the Mile High Club this time around?" 

"No. A fascinating report on a cheaper method of DNA testing though. And another one on identifying the profile of female arsonists. It was pretty good."

She turned to the arson article first, but found she couldn't concentrate. She glanced at the book in his hand, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't hiding an entomology book in the cover. He wasn't. 

"Calvin and Hobbes?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, not at all," she said defensively, turning back to her magazine. 

Half an hour later she had exhausted her reading materials, and closed her eyes. The plane wasn't scheduled to land for another forty five minutes, and she really didn't want to talk to anyone. The chance of that happening was slim to none, as Grissom was still absorbed by his _educational_ reading, but it was an effort at self preservation.

Her mind wandered, tracing a meandering course of memories. She thought about her father, and how her mother would be holding up. Having analyzed that situation she moved to more logical thoughts- who to call, what to arrange, legal matters that needed attending. She organized the actions, setting an itinerary to follow. She heard one of the attendants coming up the aisle, and meant to ask for more water. She stopped when she heard Grissom speaking quietly to her.

"May I please have a pillow?"

"Of course sir," the woman replied.

The next thing Sara was aware of was Grissom's hand moving her head forward just long enough to put the pillow behind it. Her first instinct was to tense at his contact, but her common sense overrode it. No use making things more difficult then need be. He took the magazine from her hands gently, letting his palm rest over hers. She was surprised to discover the gentleness of his contact, and it threatened to pervade every nerve ending in her body.

His hand rested there, a crude effort at comfort, until the plane began its descent and she faked awakening.

~*~

Sara looked around the terminal, peering into every passing face in the hopes it would be the one she sought. They weren't, as she knew deep down they wouldn't. Still, it was hard to believe. Her father had always hated airplanes, and was always there an hour before hers was scheduled to land. Even after she had moved into San Francisco itself, only going "home" for the occasional weekend, he had driven in. At all hours of the night too.

Grissom's voice broke through her reverie.

"Sara?"

"Yeah?" she replied, forcing a smile on her face.

"The bags are coming around."

Shouldering her overnight, she followed him silently.

He spotted her suitcase before she did and grabbed it off the conveyor belt. She returned the favour, grinning triumphantly. He feigned innocence, and Sara made a point of letting her hand linger when he took it.

"Who were you looking for?" he asked. She considered letting the question lie, but his eyes asked her not to.

"My father," her strained smile twisted itself upwards even more. "It's funny. I deal with death every day. You'd think I'd have known better."

"Denial is human nature, Sara. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

She shrugged, and he didn't bring it up again. He mentioned picking up the rental car, and she started in the direction the signs pointed before stopping to let out a curse.

"What is it?"

She shook her head ruefully. "I forgot to tell my mom when the plane was coming in. I just hope the car rental has decent rates."

He looked at her questioningly. "Why don't I just drive you?"

She shook her head. "You've already done enough Gris. It's an hour and a half one way."

"It's not like I have anything to do tonight anyways. There's no reason for you to rent a car- I assume your mother has one?"

"Yeah. And I'm not going to win an argument with you, am I?"

"Come on."

Sara sighed, realizing the futility of debating the matter. Once Grissom got that look in his eyes, there was no going back. She was surprised to find the thought was tinged with an uncharacteristically bitter tone.

"I should call my mom. Let her know when I'll get there, see if she needs anything." 

"Sure. I'll just go get the car…"

"I'll meet you at the office, okay?"

He left, looking back only once. Sara fished her cell from the suitcase, punching in the B&B's personal line.

"Sidle residence," an unfamiliar male voice answered.

"Who is this?"

"Matt Cross. Who is this?"

Sara felt like she was in the twilight zone. _Matt Cross? Talk about a blast from the past. _Then she remembered- Mr. Hotshot Lawyer had moved back home five years ago, to raise his daughter. Allison, she thought her name was. Her parents had looked after the girl a couple of times a week for the last three years or so.

"Hi Matt. It's Sara. How's mom?"

"Your mom's okay. The Sidle women are pretty resilient. She's laying down for a bit though, so I'm holding down the fort."

"Okay. I just got in, so I'll be there about seven, eight if I stop for dinner. Will you be there until then?"

"Sure, I'll stay as long as you need."

"Thank you," she said, hanging up.

By the time she caught up to Grissom he was finishing off the paperwork. The keys were handed over, and she expertly snatched them from his hand. 

"I'll drive."

"Sara…." he warned.

"Look, how much sleep have you had in the last two days?"

"En-"

She cut him off. 

"Warrick had to testify in the Black case yesterday. And don't try to tell me you weren't there," she gave a sardonic smile. "He was attached to the case, and I _know_ you were there. On cases like that you always are, tucked into a back corner so we don't know you're there. Even for me, though I don't know why."

Noticing his confused look, she continued. "Don't worry, I won't tattle. My point is, you were in court yesterday. Then you worked a nine hour shift–getting me a plane ticket at the same time- and then flew in. Do you really want to drive on unfamiliar roads, for three hours, at least partially in the dark?"

"Fine," he said, shrugging. "Lead the way."

~*~

Traveling in silence was usually uncomfortable, but for once it didn't bother Sara. Forcing the reason for her visit from her mind, she took the all too familiar roads home. She turned the radio to the same station she had listened to as a teenager, grimacing slightly when she realized its play list was still crap. She couldn't find anything better though, and left it.

When they entered the town marking the halfway point of their journey, she asked Grissom if he wanted dinner. He gave a noncommittal grunt, and she pulled into a small diner.

"I'm hungry," she explained.

They chose a booth by the door, nervously eying the menu. A waitress who looked liked the star of some Independent Film took their order. Sara tore at the corners of a napkin, rolling the pieces into tiny balls she listlessly flicked across the table. Grissom knew he should say something, but exactly what that was he wasn't sure. The waitress came back with their food a split second before the silence had dragged on too long by even their standards.

They took it gratefully, both focusing on the food to avoid their companion. After a few minutes, Sara commented on the quality of her chili and Grissom unthinkingly mentioned she hadn't tasted chili until she had his mother's. She cheekily asked if that was an invitation, and he shrugged. It sparked a discussion about family recipes though, and for awhile the world outside the diner did not exist. They eventually had to pull away and, paying for their dinner, left.

The remainder of the drive, forty five minutes, passed without a word. It was closer to eight thirty then eight by the time she arrived at the Clearstone Lodge, but she figured Matt wouldn't have left her mother alone. Pulling first into a large circular driveway and then onto the smaller path which led to the house entry, Sara braced herself for the inevitable flurry of emotions she had avoided until that moment. 

Taking her suitcase from the backseat, she got out of the car. Grissom took her position at the wheel, his hand making contact with her for an instant before closing the door. She walked towards the door, almost reaching it before he called her back.

"Yeah?"

"You forgot your bag." 

He handed it to her through the window, then reached into his pocket. Pulling out what she assumed was a plane ticket, he glanced at her with guilt written on his face. 

"I forgot about this- the return ticket. It's for 11 o'clock Saturday. AM. You can exchange it for whenever-" he changed the topic suddenly. "Do you have a pen?"

Taking one from the bag he had given her, she asked what he needed it for. Jotting something on the ticket envelope, he answered.

"Take as long as you need here, but when you know how long you'll be, phone the lab. And if you need anything…to talk or whatever… here's the number at the hotel."

Surprised by his offer, she took the ticket without question.

"Take care of yourself Sara," he said, putting the car in reverse. 

She watched the vehicle depart until vegetation obscured her view. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to deal with the current situation. 

.....................

Feedback appreciated. :)


	4. Chapter 4

** Author's notes**: I'm sure several readers will be somewhat pleased to learn that as much as I attempt to keep this fic merely friends, my muse is a psychotic something-or-other. Try as I might, this is going to end up way to GSR happy. 

Jake the dog- in at least one episode there is a picture of a golden lab in Sara's locker. I figured he had to belong to someone.

Allison Cross- Based on a child of the same age I know, so it's really not all that unbelievable.

See first chapter for all important disclaimers. 

~::+::~::+::~::+::~::*****::~::+::~::+::~::+::~

The family entrance lacked the ornate detail her father had lavished on the business front, physical proof that he had taken Sara's advice at least once. Before she raised her hand to knock, the door flung open and she was embraced. 

She pulled back instinctively, and the arms were dropped. It was Matt, and she wasn't at all surprised that fifteen years had seen little change in his appearance. He was fairly good looking, in a quietly intelligent sort of way. His hair was boyishly rumpled, a dark brown that was straight off the picture of a high school quarterback. He hadn't actually played sports though, electing instead for the debate team. His eyes were bottle green, and framed with glasses so often associated with the academic field. Although currently frowning, the lines around his mouth indicated he still smiled often. 

"Hi."

"Hi."

What was she supposed to say? She was completely clueless, unsure of the situation. Her mind latched onto the first thought that came along.

"Sorry I'm late."

He half-smiled, and she realized how absurd she must have sounded.

"It's okay. Your mom is sleeping still, so I've been watching TV," he said, making way for her to pass. "Who dropped you off?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

"Try me," he said, a twinkle in his eye. 

"My boss."

Matt mulled this over for a minute before admitting defeat.

"There were no plane tickets. By some extraordinary coincidence he happened to be heading for San Francisco for a conference, and had an extra ticket. When I realized I hadn't called mom, he offered to drive me." 

"That was very kind of him," Matt replied, his tone suggesting that it was above and beyond the call of duty. "Are you two…close?"

She could tell from his voice what he meant by close.

"I've known him for years, but we work together. Fraternizing with co-workers is a professional no-no. Besides, the man's a walking encyclopedia. But stick him in a social situation and you're begging for a disaster. Absolutely no knack for human relations. So no, we're not 'close'." 

Her tone was unnecessarily confrontational, and Sara forced herself to soften it. 

"I misread the signs once, learned my lesson, got over it. We're civil."

Having enough of the topic, she focused on what had brought her home.

"Has the body been released?"

God, she hated how callous that sounded.

"The autopsy confirmed cause of death was an aneurysm, so the funeral home is picking it up in the morning. Your dad planned his funeral and organized his will nineteen months ago, so most things have been taken care of. There are a few people your mom hasn't been able to contact though. There's a list in the kitchen."

"What about guests? Has she phoned them?"

"Anyone scheduled for the next two weeks has had their reservation transferred to another B&B, and we've contacted them all."

Momentarily panicked at the thought of nothing to occupy her time, Sara desperately asked what was left to be done.

"Not much. I can handle it, if you'd like."

"No, no. That's fine. I can handle it. Just…tomorrow."

She felt tired all of the sudden, and he put on his coat. Promising to return during his lunch break the next day, Matt left.

The house was silent as Sara locked the door and made her way to her childhood bedroom. She found it hadn't changed since her high school days- eggshell white walls, a flowered bedspread and a poster of the periodic table over her desk. The lamp on her nightstand had been replaced, since Jake had knocked it over a few years earlier.

Wondering where her parent's golden lab was, she conducted a quick search of the upstairs. It wasn't like him not to greet her at the door.

She found him sleeping, stretched out beside her mother. Thankful he kept her from being alone, Sara closed the door and retreated to her bedroom. She unpacked her suitcase, surprised that empty hangers still hung in her closet. Her dad was terrible for stealing them, as he always lost his own. 

She finished quickly, and realized she had nothing to do. She finally elected for bed, and changed. Once in the single bed, she had expected sleep to come quickly. _No such luck_, she thought as she tossed and turned looking for a comfortable position. It took almost three hours before she realized the problem wasn't her mattress but the rigidity of her body. Starting with her toes, she worked her way up the body, forcing one muscle at a time to relax. She was surprised that muscles she was only passingly aware of were tensed. She finally let sleep take her.

~*~

Sara woke up at seven, and showered before heading downstairs to make breakfast. Her mother was already at the stove, flipping pancakes. Sara paused at the door, struck by the familiarity of the scene. All it needed was her father sitting at the table, coffee in one hand and the _Arts and Entertainment_ section in the other. When he didn't magically appear, she swallowed against the lump in her throat and entered.

She went to help with the food, but her mother swatted her hand.

"Go sit down Sara."

The plate was heaping, easily enough for a dozen people. She took several, pouring excess syrup. It was a bad habit she had broken in college, but she didn't care.

"Your Aunt Bea will be coming about noon, and Wendy and the kids should be here early afternoon," her mother informed her, with false cheeriness. She avoided saying anything about why, and Sara didn't want to broach the subject.

"Matt said there were a few people you hadn't called yet. Who?"

"There's a list on the fridge," she said mildly, as if nothing was wrong.

Sara bit her tongue before she could comment; reminding herself the denial was the first stage of grief. But staying in that stage was dangerous. Not to mention functioning and dealing with the inevitable problems that would arise required some acceptance. She finished the pancakes and poured herself some coffee.

She'd start phoning after breakfast.

~*~

By eleven she was about to give up. Of twenty calls, three had been out of service, six had gotten her answering machines and one had a live person at the end. The others hadn't been answered. Deciding to try later that day, when people were likely to be off work, she had started dusting. 

About eleven thirty a knock came at the door, and she remembered Matt's promise. Answering the door, she found is was him.

"Hi. Come in. Do you want something to eat? I was about to make some vegetable soup…."

"Sure," he said, following her into the kitchen. 

They didn't talk until they were seated at the table, steaming bowls in front of them.

"I told you last night, your father had almost everything organized. I dropped a suit off yesterday, but the funeral home may call about a few details. Just flower arrangements and stuff."

"Okay," she said.

"He wanted a wake, so people can say goodbye. Then he wants his ashes spread out on the bay. You'll have to book a boat, unless you want me to."

"I can do it," Sara asserted, somewhat miffed he doubted her ability.

"Have you started phoning?"

"Yes. I'm not getting much, but I'll do it."

"And-"

"I said I can do it!" she yelled, banging her fists to punctuate. The force caused the soup to spill onto the tabletop, and she looked horrified. She grabbed paper towel to clean it up, apologizing profusely. 

"It's my fault really…"

"No it's not. I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

When he protested, she cut him off. "Just accept the damn apology."

Their eyes locked, neither one willing to let the other take the blame. The battle was interrupted when Jake bounded into the room, fresh from a long walk. Sara's mother came in next.

"Hi Matthew."

He stood and hugged her. "Hello Louise. How are you?"

"Better then I could be," she answered truthfully. "Is Ally going to come tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't want her to be a bother."

"Let her come."

He nodded. "Okay. I have to go now, if I want to get back to the office. I'll stop by after work."

Matt kissed Louise on the cheek, nodded to Sara and showed himself to the door. 

"Do you want some soup, mom?" asked Sara, pointing to his untouched bowl.

~*~

Aunt Bea arrived on time, and Sara put her in the guestroom. She set up a room for when Wendy came, then tried contacting the people she hadn't gotten ahold of yet. The funeral home called around three, to confirm that wake times. 

"Tuesday at seven o'clock, Wednesday at eleven and again at seven?"

"Tuesday? As in tomorrow?" Everything seemed to be happening so fast, but Sara chalked it up to dealing with corpses involved in active investigations. "That'll be fine."

The woman on the other end commented on a lovely display of pictures to remember the deceased throughout the years, and Sara was inspired. Bringing the cordless phone with her to the attic, she spent most of the day sorting through boxes of old photos. 

There were few with her father, who had always opted to be behind the camera. He'd jokingly complain that his 'ugly mug could never compare to the beauty of his two favourite girls' and take the pictures. There were a few good ones though- wedding photos, one of him holding a baby Sara with her brother beside him, a twelve year old Sara grinning gap-toothedly beside him at the fair. 

When she found enough, she went back to the kitchen to stick them onto a display board. It took several hours for her to be content, and night was falling. Her mother had welcomed Wendy and her two children at some point, and they came for dinner. 

Matt stopped in briefly, and found that Sara had taken control of the final arrangements. He offered assistance, and she politely turned him down.

By the time she climbed into bed that night, she had talked to all but four of the people on the list. What felt like half the neighbourhood had stopped by to offer condolences, often bringing an offering of food with them. For having done next to nothing it was a tiring day, and she congratulated herself on keeping it together.

~*~

Allison Cross had her father's green eyes, but had taken the rest of her looks from her mother. Her nose was small and upturned, her smile sweet against a dark complexion. Her hair was long and a shade of brown so dark many first mistook it for black. 

All this Sara processed within thirty seconds of opening the door and finding the girl on the step at one o'clock. 

"Who are you?" the girl asked, revealing a lost front tooth.

"I'm Sara. Where's your daddy?"

The girl looked confused by her question. 

"He's at work, you silly billy."

"Then how did you get here?"

"The school bus dropped me off."

"How old are you?" Sara asked doubtfully.

"Five and a half."

Sara thought she spoke well for a five year old. But then again, what the Hell did she know about kids?

"Come in."

The girl did, dropping off her backpack –how had Sara missed that?- and her outerwear in the closet before making a beeline for the living room. She seemed to search for something, looking under all the furniture. Not finding it, she went from room to room. Once she was done, she seemed satisfied.

"Grandpa's really gone, isn't he?"

For the first time that day, Sara felt tears prickle her eyes. 

"Yes, he is."

"I didn't believe daddy," the girl confided sadly. "But he was right. Can I watch Dora?"

"Dora?"

"Dora the Explorer," the girl explained, as if she were speaking to a complete imbecile. "She's on the hamster channel."

"The hamster channel?"

"Use the guide," Allison said, rolling her eyes.

Sara complied, knowing there was really no option. Her mom had taken a walk in the morning, and hadn't come back. Aunt Bea had gone with Wendy and the kids into town, and Sara was alone with a smart-mouthed five year old.

~*~

After settling Allison down, Sara toyed with the idea of phoning Grissom. She suddenly wanted to hear his voice, even if it was the disapproving supervisor tone he used on her all too often. She finally dismissed the idea, convincing herself he was probably in the middle of a lecture.

Wendy and the others came back around three fifteen, her mother soon following suit. Matt appeared around quarter to four, suggesting they get dinner at the local steakhouse. Allison wrinkled her nose in disgust and said she didn't feel like eating. Matt tried to convince her otherwise, reminding her steak was her 'absolute favourite', but she was steadfast. Sara offered to stay with her, claiming exemption because of her vegetarianism. 

Matt finally agreed, and they pulled out of the drive as the grandfather clock struck four. Whatever show that had held Allison's interest was over, and she begged for a movie.

"Which one?"

Allison seemed to give this careful thought, finally settling on _Sleeping Beauty_. She asked Sara to watch it with her, even offering her the "best seat". When Sara obeyed, she cuddled in tightly and watched as the credits rolled.

When Malificent roared into the banquet, Sara prepared to hide Allison's eyes remembering how frightened she herself had been at that age. She was surprised to find the girl fast asleep. Sighing, she resigned herself to watching the movie.

She was scoffing at the meeting between Briar Rose and Prince Philip when a knock came on the door. Figuring it was another neighbour, she ignored it. Whoever was at the door was persistent, and Sara finally got up. Allison stirred slightly at the disturbance, but fell back asleep.

Sara opened the door, surprised to find who stood of the other side.

"Grissom?"

………………………..

Feedback appreciated. :-)


	5. Chapter 5

First off, a big thanks to all my reviewers. Your encouragement is…encouraging. Maybe I should invest in a thesaurus.

My apologies for the long time between updates. I've been sick, and somehow this just got pushed to the backburner. Although not as far back as my history essay… suspicious. And since this chapter was at one point renamed as TheChapterFromMordor on my PC, I'm sure you can appreciate the … "time and effort" that went into it. Heck, this is only half of what was supposed to go in the chapter. Go figure.

See first chapter for all important disclaimers.

~::+::~::+::~::+::~::*****::~::+::~::+::~::+::~

"Grissom?"

She looked closer, convinced she was hallucinating. He peered back at her through a screen of green foliage. A plant, she realized. More specifically, a fern.

She was interrupted by Jake, who came bounding down the stairs two at a time to sniff the newcomer. He didn't care for what he found, and stood on his hind legs to reach Grissom's face. His paws rested on what Sara knew to be one of Grissom's better dress shirts. She figured he had come up on a whim after a lecture, and wasn't sure if that was a welcome thought.

"Catherine?" guessed Sara, relieving Grissom of the pot. 

"Officially the Crime Lab of the Las Vegas PD, along with their condolences."

"And unofficially?" she asked, rumpling Jake's ears distractedly with her free hand. 

"Catherine," he admitted, and she grinned. "As well as their official expressions of sympathy, she asked me to relay a few messages- Greg did extraction wonders on the Day's Jackson case, and has been seen strutting around the lab singing Queen on multiple occasion; it's gotten Ecklie's entire teamed extremely pissed. Either Nick or Warrick started a pool, seeing how long this would keep you out of the lab- they're both very worried you'll suffer withdrawal if you don't come back soon. And Catherine's desperately waiting for your return, though she'd prefer it if it's Sunday between five and eleven."

Sara laughed. _That was the lab for you_, she thought_. _She wasn't at all surprised to realize she missed it, and not just the work. The people. 

Finally registering that Grissom was still outside, she motioned him in.

"You want something to drink? We're all out of coffee, but there's about a hundred and seven variations of tea. Plus milk, juice, soda…" 

"Tea's fine," Grissom assured her. 

"Okay," she said, relaxing. 

"How is everyone?" he asked as she set the fern down on a table. She fiddled with a frond, and Grissom belatedly wondered if he should have mentioned the topic.

"We're…we're okay. Tonight and tomorrow are the wakes, and then we've booked a boat…to spread the ashes," she explained softly, before giving a sarcastic chuckle. "Though if I see one more tray of frozen lasagna, I think I'll scream." 

"I know the feeling."

Sara shrugged, and headed towards the kitchen. 

Grissom and the dog both followed her lead. Indicating a chair for him to sit, she opened a cupboard over the double sink. The investigator in him took a cursory evaluation of the room. It was spacious, and well lit in the afternoon sun. Cupboards ran along one wall, and most of the appliances seemed built in. She whistled to get his attention, and then repeated her question.

"Do you have a preference?"

"What do you have?"

"Too many to name. My mother is a firm believer in the art of tea. Let's start at the basics- black, green, white, herbal or oolong?"

"Black."

"Orange Pekoe, Earl Grey, Russian, English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, Peach, Lemon, Raspberry, Blueberry, Kiwi, Darjeeling, Keemun, Lapsang Souchang…It keeps going," she informed him, digging further into the cupboard.

"Earl Grey would be fine."

Amusement flickered in his eyes, and Sara realized she was babbling. Again. Over flavours of tea. She bit her tongue as she ran water in the pot, then transferred it to the coffeemaker. Her mother would have conniptions, but she wasn't there.

"This is going to take awhile," she announced, gesturing towards the pot. "You want the tour?"

She didn't give him time to reply, grabbing a key off the counter. Unlocking a large door, she explained it was the only entrance to the guest section of the house. With no choice but to follow her, Grissom did.

~*~

"And so ends the official Clearstone Lodge tour," Sara intoned, mimicking a bad tour guide. They had come full circle, and their timing was impeccable. The coffeemaker was issuing its final complaints as they reentered the kitchen.

"So, why are you here?" she asked conversationally, reaching for a couple of mugs. "Didn't you have _something_ to attend?"

"The air conditioner in the lecture hall burnt up, and the odour was making people nauseous. The address was rescheduled for tomorrow evening, and I had the afternoon off."

"Oh."

Something about her tone warned Grissom he had said the wrong thing. She didn't pursue that line of thought, instead choosing to ask how the seminar was going in general.

"It's interesting. And it's a good reminder how well-funded we are, comparatively speaking. The organizers have issued a challenge- Every lecture is using the same sample case to demonstrate, and the attendees get reports or photos that pertain to the topic. And from that 'evidence' we have to determine which speaker was the murderer."

"Sure you aren't on a Murder Mystery Weekend?" Sara teased, arching an eyebrow. She had finished pouring the tea, and made her way to the refrigerator. "Do you want milk?" 

"Yes."

"Are you working it with anyone?"

The question was unexpected. 

"Why do you ask?"

Her back was to him as she reached into the fridge, and he couldn't decipher the possible implications of her posture. Her eyes could never hide the truth from him though, and for a minute he wished she would look at him.

"I know you. For someone who likes to be alone, you have an odd need to talk a case out," Sara enlightened him, handing him a mug. 

He took a sip before replying. 

"Maggie was supposed to be my aid, so I'm flying solo."

"The way you like it?" she asked, a dangerously flirtatious lilt to her voice. She immediately reprimanded herself, considering the possibility that she had lost her sanity. Not only was it dangerous ground, but the timing was completely inappropriate. 

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Still, it _is_ my fault you're without a partner. Care to run the case by me?" offered Sara.

"The files are in the car."

She gave a salacious smile. "They won't do you any good there."

Sara became aware of his discomfort, and considered apologizing. But as petty as it made her, she enjoyed watching him fidget. This urge lasted mere seconds, passing with as little warning as it had come. Her concentration was captured by his eyes, fascinated by the emotion which bore a resemblance to pity. Her study was abruptly cut off when whatever it was she had thought she'd seen retreated once more; he was just Grissom again.

He opened a mouth to offer a reply, but closed it quickly. He put his mug down and went outside. Sara followed his path, biting her tongue to prevent herself from calling after him. It was incredible, the speed in which she could frighten him away. From her view at the doorway, she saw him settle into the driver's seat. Sighing, she turned away. His company had been a distraction, and for the first time since she had arrived, memories hadn't bombarded her at every corner.

Sara returned to the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs. The mug mocked her from where he had set it; she briefly considered throwing it across the room. She didn't hear the door open, but she recognized footsteps. Not daring to hope she had been wrong, she turned in her seat. He was leaning on the doorjamb, several folders in his hand.

"Where do you want to start?"

God, she was getting paranoid.

"We'll have more room in the office," she told him. She took pride of the fact that her voice betrayed no emotion. No anger, for being put through that; no discernable joy for his presence. Friendly but cool.

Picking up his drink, Sara headed for the living room. By some strange design flaw, it provided the only entrance to her father's office. He hadn't minded, often watching the TV from his desk.

Sl_eeping Beauty_ was still playing, and Allison hadn't moved. Jake had taken Sara's place though, and he dared Grissom to come near the girl. Sara had passed the girl, but Grissom stopped.

"Allison Cross," Sara explained, giving an answer to his unspoken question. "Her father is my parents' attorney, and an ex-classmate of mine. For the last three years, mom and dad have babysat her a few times a week. She calls them grandma and grandpa, and it makes them happy. They always wanted grandkids, and it's not like I'll be having any.

"Her father- Matt- just took mom out for dinner, because she hadn't eaten anything today."

"Had you?"

She glared, taking the folders from him.

"I'm all yours," she replied, effectively closing the subject. "Until six, at least."

~*~

They had systematically made their way through two pots of tea and the 'evidence' provided in the lectures so far. For the most part they were silent, content to work independently. From time to time Sara would ask for clarification, and they would banter for a few minutes before returning to the case.

"So, what do we have?" Grissom asked, needing to take a mental inventory.

"Not much," Sara answered, closing another report. "A John Doe, late teens or early twenties, found dead in the bathroom of a gas station. The bugs set time of death approximately 72 hours before discovery, and the coroner's report lists cause of death as asphyxiation. Probably from a pillow of some sort, since fibres consistent with cotton pillowcases appeared in the vic's nostrils and mouth. No fingerprints, and there were too many shoeprints to get a sample."

"Okay, so we're almost leadless?"

"There was the matchbook on the victim. Did we get fingerprints off of it? Or a DNA sample?"

"Nothing that wasn't the victims."

"Figures," Sara said. A thought occurred to her. "Can I see the scene photos again?"

He handed them over, and Sara pushed the rest of the documents into a corner of the table they sat at. Spreading the photos across the table, she visualized the scene.

"Okay…so the killer had to either drag the body _into_ the restroom, or that's our primary scene."

She pointed to the outside photographs. "This dirt is packed hard, yet there's no indication of recent disturbance…. Carrying a body into a bathroom looks too suspicious, anybody would notice that. If the killer is in the forensics field, they'd know that. Making it look like they were assisting someone to the bathroom would go unnoticed, but leave scuffmarks. So that leaves us with a primary scene, and a nagging question. When can someone enter a single toilet public bathroom with another person?"

The thrill of solving a puzzle lit her eyes, and he knew she already had her answer.

"When they aren't going to use the facilities?"

"Give the man a prize," she quipped. "How many female speakers are there?"

He checked a printout. "Seven."

"Okay. That's not much help at the moment. Should we be looking closer at the vic? He's young, right? Student maybe?"

"A student who doesn't drink?" he said skeptically. "His tox screen indicated there was no alcohol in his system."

"It's not unheard of, Grissom," scolded Sara. His statement didn't sit well with her though, and she quickly realized why. "Where's the matchbook from? And how many matches were missing from it?"

Grissom got the drift.

"A downtown nightclub. The Devil's Elbow, I think."   
"A college student at a club who doesn't drink? _That_ I don't believe." 

"We don't know if he's a student," Grissom reminded her.

"Still, it seems odd. Do we have anything else?"

"Not yet. We have the tox report and autopsy results from the pathologist; fibre samples from Trace and eye witness statements from the cop."

There wasn't anything in the statements, and they both knew it. They were stuck in a dead end until more 'evidence' came to light. Sara looked at her watch, and jumped from the table.

"Shit! They should have been back by now."

She turned an apologetic eye to Grissom. "I don't suppose you'll keep an eye on Ally for me? I have to shower and…"

"What am I supposed to do with a kid?"

Sara shrugged. "How should I know? She watched TV all day, and she's asleep right now."

"You might want to tell her you're leaving her with someone she's never met before you disappear," he warned her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Grissom picked up the folders and made his way into the living room. _Sleeping Beauty_ had finished, and the VCR had shut off. A kid's cartoon was on now, a bunch of bath toys running around the cleanest bathroom Grissom had ever seen. The lead character, a pink frog, kept exclaiming 'Swimming!' in a nasal voice. It was enough to wish a slow and painful death on its creator.

"Ally?" 

Sara sat down on the couch and gently shook the girl's shoulder. She stirred, opened one eye to peer at Sara, and then fell back asleep. "Allison, wake up please."

The child finally obliged, going from asleep to energetic in mere nanoseconds. 

"Hi Sara!" she said brightly.

Sara spoke slowly and clearly, unmoved by Ally's enthusiasm. "Allison, this is Grissom. He's going to watch you until your dad comes back, or I finish upstairs. Is that okay?"

Her brow furrowed in thought, and it was clear she spent too much time around adults. 

"Okay," she agreed finally. Pulling Sara close, Ally cupped her hands and whispered into her ear. "He's not a stranger, is he? Daddy says you shouldn't talk to strangers."

To her credit, Sara's face was straight when she replied. "No, he's my friend. And if it makes you feel better, some people call him Gruesome Grissom."

Ally laughed at this. "That's so silly!"

"Yes, it is," concurred Sara, standing up. Turning to address Grissom, she added. "I won't be long. I just don't think it's appropriate to show up in sweats."

"Ally and I will be fine," he told her. After all, the kid seemed reasonable enough; and it wasn't as if he was completely clueless towards children. 

Sara left, and Allison patted the cushion beside her. 

"Sit down," she ordered. "Watch Rubbadubbers."

He did, and tried to rationalize what transpired on the screen. He knew there was a reason he avoided most television- it was utter dribble. Allison was engrossed though, laughing at every opening. Five minutes passed, and Grissom had just about reached his quota. As if on cue, Allison's stomach grumbled.

"I'm hungry," she told him.

"What did you have for lunch?"

"Nothing. Grandpa makes lunch."

Her tone was oddly wistful, and Grissom considered the methods children dealt with loss. Sara probably hadn't thought to feed the girl, and the girl didn't want to accept the fact that grandpa was no longer there to make her meals.

"Okay. Let's go find something to eat," Grissom said, turning off the TV.

……………

Feedback appreciated.


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